In sixteenth-century New Spain, witchcraft is punishable by death, indigenous temples have been destroyed, and tales of mythical creatures that once roamed the land have become whispers in the night.
We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Sun of Blood and Ruin by Mariely Lares, a reimagining of Zorro featuring a heroic warrior sorceress and inspired by Mesoamerican mythology and Mexican history—out from Harper Voyager on February 20.
In sixteenth-century New Spain, witchcraft is punishable by death, indigenous temples have been destroyed, and tales of mythical creatures that once roamed the land have become whispers in the night. Hidden behind a mask, Pantera uses her magic and legendary swordplay skills to fight the tyranny of Spanish rule.
To all who know her, Leonora de las Casas Tlazohtzin never leaves the palace and is promised to the heir of the Spanish throne. The respectable, law-abiding Lady Leonora faints at the sight of blood and would rather be caught dead than meddle in court affairs.
No one suspects that Leonora and Pantera are the same person. Leonora’s charade is tragically good, and with magic running through her veins, she is nearly invincible. Nearly. Despite her mastery, she is destined to die young in battle, as predicted by a seer.
When an ancient prophecy of destruction threatens to come true, Leonora—and therefore Pantera—is forced to decide: surrender the mask or fight to the end. Knowing she is doomed to a short life, she is tempted to take the former option. But the legendary Pantera is destined for more than an early grave, and once she discovers the truth of her origins, not even death will stop her.
I press my hand against his mouth. “I’m trying to save your life. Look around, alteza. How are we to survive with you shouting away our location? Now, are you going to be quiet?” He nods, and I uncover his mouth.
“Listen, they’ll see you coming long before you can stop them. You’ll have to run after I lead them away. They won’t notice you while their attention is on me. Do you understand?”
“That’s it, then. The problem is solved. I will simply go on my way and leave you here.” He scoffs. “What kind of man do you think I am?”
“A dead one if you don’t do as I say.”
I can’t think straight, and if things go on this way, we’ll both be dead before I figure out how to get us out of this mess while our hearts are still beating. The most important thing is to keep my wits. To start with, Prince Felipe needs to shut up.
“I’m sorry, alteza.” I choke him out in about fifteen seconds and wait until he convulses and snores. Time for his siesta.
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Sun of Blood and Ruin
As I get up and brush myself off, I look upward; the fog rolls low over my head. The prince was right. The archers must be hiding in the trees. They can see us, but we can’t see them.
A large figure lunges at me from the fog. I throw my hands up.
“I surrender!” I repeat it in Spanish, Nahuatl, and in broken Purepecha, but my attacker rages toward me, hair whipping around. I sprawl backward, then his red-painted face is up in mine. He’s taller than I am, and a good hundred pounds heavier. And he isn’t wearing any covering.
“Stop!” I say, struggling in his grasp. I don’t want to hurt this man. “Listen to me! Please, no more blood!” He acknowledges my words but although he seems to understand, he still sees me as an enemy.
The warrior slaps me hard across the face with the flat of his palm. My cheek blazes hot, and the pain in my leg rebounds intensely. His hands wrap around my neck, squeezing my flesh. Stars sparkle across my vision. No one’s coming to save me. I’m on my own.
“Please, stop!” I try to shout, but I’m at the mercy of a man who whose people have been shown none.
Inés’s words ring in my ears. Your power lies in your ability to remember who you are when they try to make you forget.
Each second is an eternity as fear engulfs me, debilitating my mind and body.
Remember who you are when they try to make you forget.
My ribs heave up and down, but no air comes. Dizziness.
Remember who you are.
Trapped. No way out.
Remember.
I’m a sorceress. I say it over and over in my head. I look up, but Tonatiuh is shadowed by the low clouds, so I desperately try to draw tonalli from the earth, the trees, the wind, the leaves, anything and everything. Absorbing just enough, I flatten my palms against his chest and blast him against a tree.
“Leave,” I say, my breath rushing out, “before I decide my face is the last thing you’ll ever see in this world.”
The warrior comes at me in a rage. I can bring this fight to the ground. I can put him on his back but choking him is out of the question; he has a neck like a tree trunk. Even if I’m more agile, more skilled, he’s bulky enough to crush my bones beneath his weight.
I remember His Sleeping Highness is hidden under a pile of leaves. My fingers search for his weapon, find the hilt, and manage to plunge it into the soft flesh of my attacker’s lower abdomen. He barely groans at the impact of the Spanish fashion accessory, protected by layer on layer of flesh, but I can weaken him and cause pain. In a desperate effort, I go for his groin. Stab, stab, stab. Blood sprays as the dagger wrenches free, splashing down the front of my dress. He’s too shocked to struggle, to even know what’s happening. Finally, I drag the dagger across my attacker’s throat.
A hand goes to my cheek, swiping away tears. “Go to Tonatiuh, warrior,” I say.
I let the bloody dagger fall to the ground, trembling, making sense of it all. He’s gone. I killed him.
For a moment, it grows eerily quiet. Standing just within the margins of the forest, I look up to see our remaining guards beginning to emerge with caution. I feel myself shaking, knowing how this is going to end. They’ll be dead within thirty seconds. Then the archers will come after the prince and me.
I might not have the mask of Pantera, but I have the next best thing.
On this foggy morning, with the mist of battle dripping off me, and the stench of fresh blood in my nostrils, I have to shift. I want to.
I strip behind a tree and hide my clothes. I move my body into position—on all fours, head down, feet and hands flexed, back arched. I chant a prayer to honor the god of sorcery Tezcatlipoca, asking to be able to shift on demand as I am… out of practice. I’ve become so accustomed to my human form. Then, a second prayer, to not let me fail, hoping I am a true Nagual. It’s been so long since I’ve prayed to the teteoh I don’t know if they will even answer, but I am desperate. Help me.
Shift, Leonora. Focus. You can do this.
Shifting will use up nearly all my tonalli, and I’m uncertain if I will have any left to fight with, much less shift back, but I can’t show the rebels my face. Not my human one.
Come on, come on, come on.
I ignore the echo of Master Toto’s voice in my head, telling me not to do this, for I cannot do this alone. I lack control already, but when I lose control completely, I am dangerous.
But Master Toto is not here. If he were here, he’d understand. He’d know I have no other option. This is not a game. This is my life. I will live by choice, not chance. His voice roars louder, but I drown it out. He raised me. He trained me. He dismissed me. Now I curse him for interfering.
Moments pass but nothing happens. Sweating, I try harder to focus. Nothing. I feel a tickle in my throat, and I grunt, but then nothing.
Please, Tezcatlipoca. Let me not fail.
If I fail, I’m dead.
If I fail, Prince Felipe, the king’s son, is dead.
The consequences would not only be detrimental to the interests of Spain, upsetting the balance of power. There’s no telling what King Carlos, already mourning the loss of his beloved Isabela, would do if he came to learn his only surviving son, inheritor of his crown, has been murdered by rebels.
As I pray, my skin starts itching intensely. I take a deep breath and give in to the shift.
A panther’s heart is smaller than a human’s. For the heart to shrink, it first has to stop beating. All the panther’s other organs are smaller too, so while my human heart is dying, my liver and kidney are also failing. My throat, gullet, and vocal cords are tearing and reforming. The damage alone can kill you. But the animal drags you through the Nine Hells and keeps you alive and conscious, enduring every second.
My skin stretches. It feels like someone is inflating my entire body, and it itches like the pox everywhere. The sensation deepens, and I try to block the pain. I’m being flayed alive. My muscles twist and snap. Knee and ankle joints reverse. Fingernails lengthen into claws. I can take the pain now because anger has consumed me.
You cannot run away from who you are, Leonora, Master promised. Your nature will betray you.
Master was predictably sage. Nature always wins. The Panther is my animal companion. We share the same soul, and I cannot fight who I am.
I feel every second of the shift. By the time the fur starts to grow, everything hurts, everything is swollen, and I’m feral enough to murder a village.
It’s over. The Panther is alive.
I don’t need to see my reflection in water to know what I look like. Black coat. Different-colored eyes, one brown, one green. A sleek body some seven feet long. Once I told Inés that there’s no such animal as a black panther because any panther found in the New World is simply a black jaguar. We have spots, like tawny jaguars, but they are harder to see because of the dark fur.
I blink. The colors of the forest have changed to shades of gray. I lift my nose and swivel my ears to the back of my head, instantly alert. After shifting, my already keen senses sharpen.
I see better, smell better, and hear better.
I have plenty of strength in my shoulders, so I’m able to take Prince Felipe by his jacket and drag him far enough away to hide him from the archers. I have to be careful because I have extremely sharp teeth, which could easily pierce through his skin. The arrows have stopped firing, but I’m not in the clear yet. I scan the woods, looking this way and that, catching glimpses of expertly crafted arrows, hatchets, and armor.
The archers come down from the trees and out of the fog. A few dozen cluster around; men with nude, red-painted bodies.
I’m the only one who can end this. With a growl, I leap from the bushes, claws extended, landing on all fours and exposing myself fully to their view, sides heaving, catching my breath. Before, I saw them as dangerous foes. Now I see people—people who can kill, yes, but who can also be killed.
Their leader is young, his face rigid with fury, a man I would hesitate to lock eyes with, let alone cross. When he speaks, I don’t understand. There are over a hundred Indigenous tongues and even more dialects.
A trained Nagual can suppress most of their instincts when in animal form. I can listen to the other archers spout angry words at each other without pouncing. But I’ve been human for too long. I’m not strong enough to resist. The Panther is at the front of my mind.
If they run, I will chase.
If I chase, I will kill.
Usually, when you come across a jaguar, it is already too late. The ambush emerges from nowhere, and the cat is already on you. Some of the archers, confused about seeing a jaguar in the forest, slowly start to retreat. I hiss. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. The leader holds up a hand, instructing his men to stay put.
But all it takes is for one person to make a sudden movement. By then it’s too late, and no one wants to be the last one left behind. The archers make a run for it.
It happens in an instant. I claw my way to freedom, ripping innards from squirming bodies as screams fill the air. The leader manages to escape. For a moment, a dismal silence prevails. Then the sounds of the forest slowly resume, indifferent to the blood that has been shed.
I pick up speed, darting around trees. Leaves crunch under my paws. Wind ruffles my fur, chilling, invigorating.; I’m not as fast as I should be—my bad leg holds me back—but the more I run, the lighter I am, the less pain I feel. Straining every muscle, I keep running, too fast to think, to even realize I’m barely touching the ground, and I trip and roll over my own hind legs. I tumble to a halt and shake myself off, then throw open my jaw to roar. There is no greater feeling in the world than to be as one is. This is what true Naguals must come to realize within themselves. They are none other than themselves, and the Nagual Path leads to the nature of one’s self, the real self. This was the essence of my training.
When the high runs its course, I start worrying if Prince Felipe was savaged in my absence. My shift back to human form is torturous. I yank on my clothes and, to my astonishment, my horse returns to me. He has an arrow lodged in his rump, but he seems impervious to it. Such a beast! As I withdraw the arrow, I say a prayer to the god of animals. “There, there, amigo. That’s what a good prayer to Tezcatlipoca gets you.” I press my forehead to his. “From now on, you will be Valiente. You are a warrior, a brave one.”
When I find him, His Royal Highness is breathing slowly, and in odd bursts. I wake him.
Prince Felipe groans. “Where… am I?”
“They’re gone,” I say dismally. “We’re safe.” For the time being.
Raising himself on his elbows, he pushes sweat-dampened strands of hair back from his forehead. “You’re hurt,” he says, looking at my bloodied dress.
I shake my head. “It’s not my blood.”
As he stands, he brushes dirt and leaves from his sleeves and notices his jacket, torn by my fangs. “What—?” he mumbles, trying to make sense of it all.
They’re gone because I killed them. I’m a murderer.
As Nahualli, I made a vow to follow the Nagual Path, swore my life to it, promised to walk in the nepantla—the middle—for the earth is slippery, and there is the always-present risk of falling from the path. There can be no life in a world without balance.
This day, I lost control. I betrayed my oath.
Excerpted from Sun of Blood and Ruin, copyright © 2023 by Mariely Lares.
